


Knight-Captain Rylen Appreciation Week 2018

by LarasLandlockedBlues



Series: Just Say Lass [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Goodbye Sex, Humor, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Morning Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rylen Appreciation Week, Rylen Appreciation Week 2018, Sexual Humor, Smut, Starkhaven Circle, Templars (Dragon Age), character backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-24 10:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13809294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues
Summary: Some drabbles for Knight-Captain Rylen Appreciation Week 2018! These works will also appear onTumblr.So let's find out more about the roguish Knight-Captain! Tags will be updated as the stories are added.





	1. To Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1:
> 
> What was Knight-Captain Rylen like as a Templar?
> 
> Or better yet - how did he and Cullen meet while they were both Templars?

“Blasted city is a mess.”

 

“Knight-Captain – surely they don’t expect us to clean this all up on our own -”

 

“Do you see anyone else here to help? Come on – we need to find the city guard to begin coordinating.”

 

Rylen looks over the group of Templars clustered behind him and sighs. They had only sent a small contingent with him – aid for Kirkwall, they had insisted, but then they barely spared anyone to help.

 

“Come on lads – stop looking like you’re scared of your own shadows – there aren’t blood mages running free here,” he rolls his eyes at the worried way the other men are looking around.

 

_Blasted rumors, making everyone jumpy._

 

But as they make their way through Kirkwall, he begins to wonder if the rumors weren’t enough of an exaggeration.

 

Rubble covers the entire city, homes and buildings burned down, black smoke still billowing through the city – either from new fires or ones they still haven’t managed to put out after all this time.

 

There’s a constant haze of heat and crimson light, the smoke from the fires making it look like a perpetual dusk, reflecting off the surface of the stones like blood. Although, he realizes as they walk through the city, some of it is actually blood and not just the tinted light.

 

“Knight-Captain – how are we supposed to find survivors?” one of the Templars asks behind him.

 

“How do you think, Petyr? By looking,” Rylen shakes his head and keeps walking. His aqua eyes are moving over the wreckage and debris, though, and he’s calculating –

 

Weeks of work, if not months. Not just rebuilding, but also – rescue efforts. And then once those fail – recovery efforts.

 

His jaw clenches as he thinks it, realizing how much more smoke they’ll add to the air when they begin lighting funeral pyres.

 

_Maker what a bloody mess._

 

“Men – quickly, over here! I can hear another one -”

 

The deep shout rings through the air and Rylen turns, looking for its source.

 

A group of Templars – but they’re not from his small platoon. They look exhausted, covered in dark grime, and when one of them turns he sees the sigil and realizes – they’re from Kirkwall’s Circle.

 

Leading them is a man with golden hair, curly locks hanging limp and wet with sweat as he stoops and begins to move chunks of debris, shifting them, trying to move them to –

 

“Starkhaven – with me -” Rylen calls and he hurries over to the group of Templars from the Gallows and begins to shout orders. “Here – shift that there – aye, Petyr, lift with your legs, lad, don’t be daft -”

 

The Kirkwall Templars only take a moment to register the group assisting them, but they all continue working together to shift aside the rubble to create an opening. The sound is faint, but as they lift and move aside the crumbling stones it becomes louder – a child is crying under the wreckage.

 

_Shift this here – don’t move that one yet, it will fall in – there, that one next – that’s enough of an opening, maybe someone can slip in –_

 

But everyone else is still focusing on trying to steady the rubble, to shift it – and so he stands back and begins to quickly undo the clasps of his armor. It will only get in his way, make the opening too tight if he leaves it on.

 

The man with golden hair, who was giving commands, glances over his shoulder at him and frowns. It only seems to take him a moment before he realizes what he’s doing and he calls for the men to help anchor Rylen as he lies on his stomach and slides into the opening they’ve created.

 

It’s dark, and he takes a moment to let his eyes adjust as he crawls with his elbows into the small tunnel. The crying is getting louder, and he carefully inches forward.

 

“It’s – it’s all right,” he calls. “Can you hear me? Can you move? I’m – I’m going to get you out of here.”

 

The crying changes, sounding more like pleas now, and he reaches out with a hand to see if he can find the child.

 

A small hand grabs his and he grins and clasps it tightly. “Aye – there you go, I’ve got you – come on now -” and he pulls carefully, sliding the child toward him.

 

He maintains his hold and begins to back up, calling to the men holding his ankles to help pull him out of the tunnel, and slowly he and the child manage to make their way. Once free he sits back on his heels and the small girl – no older than seven – throws her arms around Rylen’s neck and clings to him tightly.

 

Patting her on the back he rocks her gently, cooing softly until she quiets in his arms.

 

“Were you alone in there, lass?” he asks softly, and he feels her nod against him. “Where are your ma and da? Do you know?”

 

But at this she simply cries harder, and he realizes he knows the answer.

 

“Aye – it’ll be all right, don’t worry,” he tells her, rubbing small circles on her back. It’s a small lie, a comforting one – but he doesn’t know what else to say.

 

When she finally calms enough one of the other Templars reaches out to take the child’s hand, but she clings harder to Rylen’s neck, not wanting to be separated from her rescuer. He gently pries her arms from his neck and brushes long dark hair off her tear-streaked face. “It’s all right, wee lass. Go with them, they’ll get you cleaned up and fed, all right?”

 

After a moment’s hesitation she nods, gives him one last squeeze, and then finally takes the other Templar’s hand to be led away. With a sigh Rylen stands and brushes off his breeches, and before he can pick up his armor to put it back on the golden haired Templar approaches.

 

“Thank you for the help, Ser -”

 

“Knight-Captain Rylen, Ser, I’ve been sent by Starkhaven to coordinate relief efforts. And you are -” he holds out his hand and the other man clasps it tightly.

 

“Cullen. Knight-Commander of Kirkwall’s – well, what remains of Kirkwall’s Templars,” Cullen nods and releases his hand. “Starkhaven, you said? I didn’t think Starkhaven had much use for Templars these days.”

 

“Well, we do what we can,” Rylen shrugs with a chuckle. “Which right now is help you. So – who’s in charge here? I was going to look for the city guard, but -”

 

“It’s a joint effort, at the moment,” Cullen sighs as he looks over the rubble.

 

Rylen begins to pull his armor back on, quickly buckling and clasping it so that they can continue their work. “We’re here to help, so – where should we begin?”

 

Cullen looks at him for a moment, and then nods again and gestures with his hand for Rylen to walk with him. The Kirkwall and Starkhaven Templars fall into step behind them as they begin to make their way through the city.

 

“Efforts are underway but they are slow going – not enough men to focus on rescue as well as clearing the damage,” Cullen reaches with a hand to rub his temples. It’s clear he hasn’t slept in days, dark circles under his eyes, their amber depths almost glassy with exhaustion. “Fires are still burning, more spring up every day. Groups of thugs and bandits are taking advantage of the chaos to ransack and loot, trying to take over. We are barely keeping order.”

 

This last he admits quietly, looking around to make certain no one can hear him. Rylen nods and frowns.

 

_Looks like we have our work cut out for us._

 

“Well, I know there aren’t many of us, but we’re able-bodied and all willing to do what we can,” Rylen assures him.

 

“Honestly I am not certain where to tell you to start,” Cullen heaves a sigh. “We are still finding survivors in the wreckage, though how many more days that will be the case -”

 

He trails off, his cheeks clenching for a moment before he shakes his head.

 

“And the survivors – do you have healers? Food? Shelter?” Rylen asks.

 

“Not enough of any of those things,” Cullen tells him grimly. “We are almost out of food, trade has been halted – nothing has been able to reach us, soon we will have to start rationing. And we have more orphans now than we know what to do with…”

 

“Well – we can always send out hunting parties – let me reach out to Starkhaven and have them send food as soon as possible,” Rylen suggests. “The able-bodied citizens can be put to work helping clear rubble, hopefully that will cut down on the amount of funeral pyres in days to come, and in the meantime the orphans -”

 

He cuts off when he glances sideways at Cullen and sees the other man staring at him with a curious frown on his face.

 

“Sorry, Knight-Commander, I – I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds -”

 

“No, Knight-Captain it’s just – it’s good to have another set of capable hands around,” Cullen smirks, looking slightly relieved.

 

“If we work together we should be able to accomplish a great deal to save this city,” Rylen smiles. “So – let’s get to work, shall we?”


	2. Leniency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rylen recently told Abigail that the Templar barracks were the same as dorms everywhere, with smut and shenanigans abounding. But when faced with such scenarios, how did he handle them?

“I’m sorry – you found  _what_   _where_?”

 

“We – I – found a copy of – of this smutty literature,” the nervous Templar passes it over, “as well as these sketches of – of –  _Andraste -_ ”

 

The last word is whispered as he hands it over, and Rylen takes it from him, trying not to laugh at the scandalized look on the other man’s face. “I see – and under whose bunk?”

 

“Well it wasn’t under his bunk, it was stashed rather obviously – he must have had it out when he heard me come in – he looked like he was -” again Aidan flushes and clears his throat, looking to the side. “Anyway – it was Petyr, Knight-Captain -”

 

Rylen heaves a sigh and rubs his temples. “Aye, of course it was,” he mutters. “Very well, thank you Aidan. I’ll have a talk with the lad, if you could send him in.”

 

“I’ll go fetch him, Ser,” Aidan nods solemnly, saluting and marching out of the office like he’s on the most important mission he can imagine.

 

Rylen chuckles and shuffles through the sheets of parchment he was handed, several of which look like hand-copied replications of the Randy Dowager Quarterly, and sketches that seem to be of the Bride of the Maker in various lewd positions. He stops on one that shows Andraste on all fours, her exposed rear to the viewer as she looks back at them suggestively. Shaking his head he sets the sheets aside, torn between laughter and irritation.

 

It’s been a few years since the Starkhaven Circle almost burnt entirely to the ground and they sent almost all of the mages to other Circles within the Free Marches. Now they mostly have Senior Enchanters there, only mages who passed their Harrowing and can be watched with so few Templars available. Their days are spent still trying to rebuild, hunting for apostates in surrounding areas, and dealing with trivial issues like this.

 

Honestly he’s glad the problem was brought to him, since the Knight-Commander wouldn’t be so lenient after discovering such lewd sketches of the Prophet Andraste in the barracks. But Rylen knows – people are the same everywhere, and even Templars have needs.

 

He shuffles through the sheets of parchment again, and he scowls a bit, feeling slightly more irritated as he looks at them. Thinking of needs – when was the last time he’d held someone in his own arms? He tries to remember – was it months now?

 

Lottie – it has to be Lottie, the last time he took a few nights for himself and visited Starkhaven proper. She still sends him letters, asking when he’ll visit again. She’s a comely enough lass, thick honey colored hair down to her waist, bright green eyes framed by long dark lashes. Curvy and petite, with an ample rear that jiggles tantalizingly when he gives it a swat…

 

Maybe it’s time to take a few days leave – he hasn’t in ages, too busy focused on keeping the Templars in line as much as he can. He knows she’s still sweet on him, and she was pleasant enough to pass the time with, though possibly not for more than a night or two.

 

It’s about time he visits his family again as well, to see all of his siblings and their many children. He may not ever have his own family, but he can visit and be Uncle Ry for a few days, and dream.

 

_Aye – what I wouldn’t give for that._

 

But he hasn’t met the right lass, and he doubts he ever will. Too many are too soft, too subdued, too timid. He doesn’t want someone he has to take care of – though he would anyway, of course, but he likes the idea that he wouldn’t have to all of the time. A strong woman, feisty and passionate, who could trade quips with him, who would let him tease her and take her whenever he wanted.

 

Who wouldn’t prattle on about new dresses the way Lottie always wants to.

 

It seems a dream, though, since he has yet to meet any woman like the one he imagines. So instead, he’ll settle for a few nights with Lottie and time with his nieces and nephews before he returns to his duties. At least he has several siblings he can live vicariously through.

 

He nods absently to himself as he straightens the sheets of parchment and sets them back down on the desk. After he speaks with Petyr, he’ll go to the Knight-Commander and put in his request, and then he’ll send a letter to Lottie – he knows she’ll be pleased. Maybe she’ll even buy a new dress she’ll tell him all about while they’re lying in bed together.

 

His musings are interrupted when the door opens and Aidan escorts a trembling, nervous Petyr into the room.

 

“Oh come now, Aidan – what did you tell the poor lad? He’s shaking like a leaf,” he teases, gesturing with a gloved hand at the youngest Templar in their ranks. He heaves a sigh and rubs his forehead before he nods at Aidan to dismiss him.

 

With one last glare at Petyr, as if he’s still thoroughly scandalized and thinks the poor lad is about to get the scolding he deserves, Aidan turns and leaves.

 

“I’m – I’m sorry, Knight-Captain Rylen, Ser, I – I – I -” Petyr stutters, flushing red, beads of sweat on his forehead.

 

Rylen shakes his head again and gestures for the seat across from his desk. “Calm down, lad, we’re just going to have a talk, I’m not going to lay you flat,” Rylen assures him with an exasperated laugh.

 

Petyr’s eyes widen and he stumbles into the chair, perching on the edge and looking ready to jump up and salute if he needs to. “We’re – we are?”

 

“Aye,” Rylen nods. “You’ll have extra patrols for a few nights, but don’t worry – we don’t kick Templars out over a bit of smut.”

 

“So then – what – what are we talking about?” Petyr asks, frowning.

 

“A little thing called  _discretion_ , lad,” Rylen laughs when the younger man blanches, looking stunned. “You got caught too easily, Petyr. You think you’re the only one with naughty sketches of Andraste or some other bonnie lass in your bunk? Here – I’ll give you a few tips.”

 

“A – a few -” Petyr stutters, looking thoroughly taken aback.

 

“Aye – that way you don’t have to get dragged down here to bother me again. I’ve got more important things to worry about than whether or not you wish you could tumble with the Bride of the Maker.”

 

Petyr still looks stunned and Rylen laughs to himself before he begins explaining all the best hiding spots in the Circle to the young lad.

 

He’s quite familiar with them, considering this is the fourth such lecture he’s had to give in two weeks. But of course – people are the same all over, even Templars.


	3. Bumbler & Mumbler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight-Captain Rylen Appreciation Week Day 2!
> 
> We all know Rylen best from Griffon Wing Keep - so how did his time there actually go? Unfortunately not as well as they could, considering the soldiers he’s overseeing.

 

> _Ry –_
> 
> _I really hope you’re coming home soon. The days pass so slowly without you here, just tired, boring monotony while I run the tavern. The recruits and soldiers are all still scared of you finding out if they’re too rowdy, though – so don’t worry, none of them are causing any problems. I think the threat of making them run up and down the mountain a few times is an even bigger threat than the lake at Haven._
> 
> _Cullen is probably getting sick of me. When I’m not at the tavern I go see him sometimes to talk about you and see if he’s gotten any reports from you. I’ve heard him sigh ‘Maker’s breath’ at me more times than I can count now, but I can’t help it – I miss you. So I just sit in his office sometimes make him tell me stories about you – until he kicks me out, that is._
> 
> _Sleeping in our bed without you is horrible – I’m tempted to get a mabari or something to help take up the space where you should be, so that I don’t notice that it’s empty. I keep thinking back to the morning before you left, and that thing you did with your tongue – in fact sometimes I think about it so much that I –_

 

“Ser, I’m sorry to disturb you but – there’s a – a situation -”

 

Rylen sighs and glances up from Abigail’s letter, frustrated that he’s being interrupted right when it’s getting to the best part. She does this in all of her letters, describing what she does at night without him. He’s had to make certain he’s the one that retrieves her letters from the ravens, so that no one accidentally sees her describing the things she wants him to do to her when he gets back to Skyhold.

 

“What’s the situation this time?” he asks the saluting Inquisition soldier, and he notices that the man is covered in – some sort of muck?

 

“It’s – well – it’s the attempts at the water supply, Ser.”

 

Heaving a deeper sigh Rylen pushes aside Abigail’s letter, intending to return to it later. “All right, let’s go see what the problem is.”

 

The soldier leads him through the keep, and Rylen looks around at the progress being made as they go. They still need so much, so many issues to tackle, but then he remembers the saying Abigail taught to him.

 

_How do you eat an elephant? – One bite at a time._

 

He smiles as he thinks it, already looking forward to hurrying back to the small quarters he’s taken up residence in to finish reading it.

 

Hopefully this problem doesn’t take too long.

 

That’s wishful thinking, he realizes, when he takes in the scene before him at their attempts at the water supply.

 

“Is that -”

 

“Corpses, yes, Ser,” the soldier tells him. “But then young Bobert and Petyr here -”

 

 _Damn it – not those two again_.

 

“What did they do now?” Rylen sighs, looking at the mess of muck and slime everywhere, at the pile of corpses unceremoniously dumped – and at the two recruits standing covered head to toe in something he doesn’t want to think about.

 

_Why in the name of Andraste did I get saddled with both of them?_

 

It takes until the middle of the night to try to handle the situation at the water supply, and by the time he returns to his quarters all he wants is a bath and his bed.

 

When he wakes in the morning he remembers Abigail’s letter and sits to read it at his desk before he sets out for the day.

 

 

> _I keep thinking back to the morning before you left, and that thing you did with your tongue – in fact sometimes I think about it so much that I –_

“Lieutenant, Ser, come quick!” the same soldier from yesterday yells as he skids to a halt just inside the doorway. “D-darkspawn – I don’t know how – we need -”

 

“Fuck,” Rylen mutters under his breath, and he grabs his sword and follows the soldier out the door as quickly as possible.

 

They tear through the keep, rousing other soldiers to follow them. Rylen knows – the last thing they need is a Blight in their midst, and he hopes they can handle the Darkspawn before anyone catches the sickness.

 

When he runs out of the keep, sword drawn, he sees the approaching band of Darkspawn running toward them – chasing two recruits who are screaming as they try to make it back to Griffon Wing Keep.

 

_Surely it’s not –_

 

But it is.

 

Bobert and Petyr are running for their lives, neither of them with their sword, both tripping and falling in the sand in their clumsy haste.

 

The small band of Darkspawn is easily defeated, with minimal injuries, and Rylen stands taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself as he takes in the scene.

 

“We-we’re s-sorry, L-Lieutenant, Ser,” Petyr bumbles.

 

“W-we w-were trying to find the Varghast nest you told us about -” Bobert mumbles.

 

“What?” Rylen snaps. “On your own? Have you gone batty?”

 

“N-no, we were just trying to -”

 

“You could have gotten killed, or gotten everyone in the keep killed – that’s it – latrine duty for the rest of the week!” he shouts, shaking his head at the two panting, trembling recruits.

 

 _The Maker has a bloody awful sense of humor_.

 

He glowers as he makes his way back to his quarters, intending to send a report to Cullen, to tell him about the Darkspawn and the water supply. Intending to tell him all about how he needs better recruits – and how in Thedas did he get saddled with the two biggest morons in the entire Inquisition?

 

When he thinks the word he smiles, thinking of Abigail.

 

Finishing her letter would calm him down, before he begins to write his report to the Commander.

 

He sits at his desk with a sigh and reaches for the letter, skimming down to the line.

 

 

> _I keep thinking back to the morning before you left, and that thing you did with your tongue – in fact sometimes I think about it so much that I –_

 

“Ser – it’s -” The soldier halts in his tracks when he sees the scowl Rylen gives him, swallowing hard and cowering. “I – I’m sorry it’s – it’s the latrines, there’s been an incident -”

 

“Already?” Rylen asks incredulously, and he pushes himself to his feet and circles his desk, each and every step he takes full of increasing vexation.

 

As Rylen tries to determine how it is that Bobert and Petyr somehow managed to ruin the entire latrine system they had established in the Keep in a matter of a few minutes, he muses over how it is he got to this point.

 

_Maybe the Commander is still angry over the incident in the armory that Miss Luna witnessed. Aye – he must be punishing me, sending me here to oversee these bumbling fools._

 

The word brings back another memory – Abigail’s soft voice calling him a crazy fool.

 

“Bobert – Petyr – with me -” he growls, gesturing for the two recruits to follow him.

 

Marching them through the keep to his quarters he tries to take deep breaths, tries to think of how he can get it through their thick skulls that they are about to be running laps around the keep for the rest of the week.

 

When they enter his quarters he gestures wordlessly at the two chairs across from his desk and then takes his own. His eyes flit to the letter lying there, and he calms himself by thinking about how he’ll be able to read it soon, once he’s done scolding these two bumbling morons.

 

“Both of you – were you dropped on your heads as wee lads?” he asks after a moment, glaring at the pair across the desk from him. “You almost single-handedly poisoned the entire keep, got them killed by Darkspawn, and now you’ve ruined how everyone pisses and shits – by the Maker lads -”

 

A scout runs in with a report and he cuts off his words. He reaches for the report but Petyr – overeager, bumbling Petyr – reaches for it at the same time, hoping to hand it to Rylen and help him out.

 

But as he passes it, his hand knocks over the candle on the desk and it falls over –

 

And lights Abigail’s letter on fire.

 

Rylen grabs the flaming parchment and tries to put it out quickly, but it’s too late.

 

The bottom half of the letter – the part he hadn’t been able to read – is gone.

 

When he turns his glare to Petyr and Bobert the pair positively cower under the look he’s giving them.

 

“Fifty laps around the keep. Now,” Rylen grits out through clenched teeth.

 

The pair before him hop to and salute, and trip over one another in their haste to get out of the Lieutenant’s sight.

 

Alone again in his quarters he slumps back in his chair and stares at the half-ruined letter. After a moment he sits forward and pulls some blank parchment to him and begins to compose two letters.

 

The first to the Commander, to apologize for what happened in the armory and ask him to send anyone – anyone at all – to take Bobert and Petyr’s place so he can send them back to Skyhold.

 

The second to Abigail, to ask her to send another letter as quickly as she can so that he doesn’t throttle any of the recruits due to his mounting frustration.

 

When he’s done he stands and hurries out of his quarters to find the ravens to send the letters with – and then he’ll go check that a certain bumbling pair doesn’t set fire to the whole keep by running laps around it.


	4. Meet the Clan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight-Captain Rylen Appreciation Day 3!
> 
> Rylen is the youngest of five, and family is important to him. So what happens when he takes Abigail home to meet his large and rowdy Starkhaven clan?

“Are - are you sure they’ll like me? They won’t think I’ve stolen their baby boy from them -”

 

“Baby boy? Like I’m some wee lad - Abigail, I may be the youngest of five but I’m also five and thirty, now -”

 

“I know, I just - I’m not from Thedas, I’m a mage - and, well,” she gestures down at herself, pouting as she does.

 

But all he does is chuckle at her. “Don’t worry, lass - they’ll love you. Although - be ready for some teasing, I’m not the only one who shows affection that way.”

 

He takes her under her arms and swings her down from the cart, and she smiles to have solid ground under her feet again, even though they haven’t been on a ship in days. She still feels like she’s swaying, and she closes her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. The whole journey she’s been sick - she’d been on cruises before back on Earth, and her husband’s friends’ yachts, but she’d never been so seasick. She still feels positively miserable.

 

“How are you feeling, my love? Better now that you’re not on that rickety ship any longer?”

 

“Oh god, Ry - don’t mention it, please,” she raises a shaky hand to her forehead and giggles.

 

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first to retch on me on a ship - you know Cullen was seasick on the way from Kirkwall, too,” Rylen squeezes her hand. “Besides, it’s not like it’s all your fault.”

 

When she finally feels a bit steadier she opens her eyes and smiles up at him. “So - you really think they’ll like me? They won’t be mad?”

 

“Why would they be mad?” he frowns.

 

“I - I mean - I don’t know how people in Thedas view this sort of thing, but -”

 

“That’s why I’m bringing you home now,” he chuckles. “I want them to get to know you before you’re officially one of the clan. Don’t worry, lass, they’re going to be thrilled.”

 

“All right,” she sighs, and she reaches down and rests a hand on top of her belly, rubbing it slightly. “It’s not far, is it? I’m fucking starving, I think I could eat a whole druffalo -”

 

“Aye, you already look like you have,” he teases, reaching over and placing his hand on top of where hers is resting. “It’s not far - we’ll get you and that wee one fed soon.”

 

Taking her hand again he smiles and presses a kiss to her knuckles before he begins to lead her away, her heart racing as she worries again about whether or not his family will accept her.

 

As they walk through Starkhaven she thinks about how little she knows about the city, except for what he’s told her. His father was a stonemason, and as she looks around she can tell that it must have been incredibly lucrative work since Starkhaven seems to be all stone. Rylen points out things, chuckling as he reminisces, telling her about growing up there and joining the Templars.

 

When he finally stops in front of a large stone house, he squeezes her hand. “Are you ready, lass?”

 

She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand back. “Aye,  _lad_ ,” she replies, and he chuckles.

 

“You almost got the accent right that time,” he teases. “Now remember – Serrick and Elinor -”

 

“Shouldn’t I start off by calling them Mr. and Mrs. -”

 

But before she can finish the question the door opens and raucous shouts and laughter greet them, startling Abby and making her jump. With barely any time to register what’s going on, hands pull she and Rylen inside the house, and several people are hugging him until she can hardly see his chestnut hair above the others.

 

“And you must be Abigail – we’ve heard so much -”

 

“Aye – what a bonny lass you managed to snag for yourself, Ry -”

 

“She’s glowing – oh Maker and that belly – you wasted no time, Ry -”

 

“Imogen! Behave!”

 

“What? It’s true, look at her -”

 

“Everyone – everyone – please – let the lass breathe, so I can introduce you,” Rylen tries to call over the din.

 

They manage to quiet, but they all turn and stare at Abby, wide eager smiles on their faces, and as she looks them over she takes in the many sets of aqua eyes fixated on her.

 

Nervously she gulps, squeezing Rylen’s hand tighter.

 

“Everyone, this is Abigail Henderson, and yes, Imogen, that belly is my wee one,” Rylen puts his hand on her belly and smirks at the playful glare she gives him. “Abigail – these are my parents, Serrick and Elinor -”

 

They step forward and take her hands in theirs in turn, both smiling, his mother’s aqua eyes swimming with happy tears as she looks Abby over. “It’s such a pleasure, I never thought our Ry would settle down -”

 

“Aye, he picked a bonny one, too -” his father winks at her, his hazel eyes twinkling as he looks her over.

 

“Stop it Da, you’re embarrassing her,” Rylen chuckles. “And then - if you could all just stand still, Maker – that there is Eirick, the eldest – I mean, the  _old_ man -”

 

“Watch it Ry, I could still take you,” his brother quips, and he’s easily identifiable as Rylen’s brother. He’s a bit softer, not as muscular, but just as tall with the same crinkling aqua eyes, his chestnut waves starting to grey at the temples.

 

“Oh sure you could,” Rylen rolls his eyes and then points to one of the women smiling at Abby, again with sparkling aqua eyes and long auburn hair. “That’s my eldest sister, Deirdre -”

 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Abigail,” she says as she shakes her hand, her voice soft and even.

 

“And this is Myrna, the  _middle_  sister -”

 

“Oh, aye Ry, make jokes about my belly when you show up with her looking like that,” his sister chides him, pushing the other sisters aside to make room for her much larger pregnant belly so she can reach Abby. “She’s not as far along, but you just wait -”

 

“The way she tells it she already looks like a druffalo -” Rylen teases and Abby smacks his chest with the back of her hand as she scoffs. “And this here is the troublemaker, Imogen -”

 

“I’m not the troublemaker, Ry – that was always you,” Imogen quips as she steps forward, shaking out her chestnut waves as she looks Abby up and down. “Speaking of trouble – she looks like she’s a fine one for you. Aye, I think you’ve finally met your match, little brother.”

 

Abby smirks and winks as she shakes Imogen’s hand. They’re all so warm, so welcoming, and her nerves are leaving her. His mother is standing close to her, looking slightly hesitant. She’s only barely taller than Abby is, with long, white hair pulled back in a braid. Her eyes are framed with wrinkles that speak of a lifetime of laughter and smiles, and the corners of her mouth are twitching up as she looks over Abby and Rylen.

 

More people are filling the hall, and suddenly a burst of noise echoes off the stone walls. Children come running down the hall, ranging in ages from their teens to small toddlers, all with auburn or chestnut hair, playing and screaming with glee when they see Rylen. Choruses of “Uncle Ry” fill the air, and he playfully greets all of them.

 

When he begins trying to name them all and introduce her to his siblings’ spouses, she finally gets lost.

 

“Ry – Ry I’m never going to remember all of this -” she laughs, staring at the large family surrounding her. “Can’t you guys all wear name tags or something for me for a bit, until I’ve had time -”

 

“Name tags?” his mother frowns, and Rylen’s face mirrors it as they all stare at her, bemused.

 

“What’s a name tag, lass?” Rylen asks.

 

“I – oh, right. Um – just, you know, pin some parchment to your shirt with your name on it,” she explains.

 

For a moment everyone is silent, looking at her like she’s a bit daft.

 

And then Rylen bursts out laughing and wraps his arm around her neck, kissing her on the top of her head. “Aye, I’ll make you a list or draw you a diagram, lass. I know it’s a lot to take in.”

 

“Did – did you have siblings or a family, Abigail?” his mother asks tentatively.

 

“I – no, I didn’t have any siblings, and my – my mother was my only family, and she passed a few years ago,” Abby explains quietly.

 

Without any hesitation Elinor steps forward and rests her hands on Abby’s shoulders. “Well, Abigail – you’ve got family now. Come along, I’m certain you’re starving – I’ve made a roast, and we’ve got potatoes and nug stew – traveling all day, and I bet Rylen didn’t feed you. Blasted lad probably forgot that you’ve got his wee one growing in you and need to keep a full belly. I tell you, I did what I could with the lad, but he was always -”

 

His mother continues talking as she ushers Abby through the house, his siblings and father following, talking with one another. She looks back at Rylen, her eyes wide, unsure of how to respond to any of this.

 

But he merely watches them escort her through the house, a bright smile on his face as he watches his large family embrace her.


	5. Five More Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight-Captain Rylen Appreciation Week Day 4 - Rylen and Romance
> 
> Rylen gets sent to the Western Approach to establish Griffon Wing Keep for the Inquisition, but first he makes sure to say farewell to Abigail.

 

The sun is filtering in through the window, hot on his skin, bright through his eyelids and he groans. If the sun is rising, that means it’s morning – and he needs to get going.

 

Burying his face in the hair tickling his nose, he inhales deeply, drinking in the scent of the warm body in his arms. She smells like that bath oil she always uses, spicy vanilla, musk, and sandalwood – just like his soap. It’s intoxicating, and he tightens his hold on her, scooting her back against him as if he can draw her into himself if he only tries hard enough.

 

“Five more minutes,” she mumbles, and she wiggles back, trying to get closer.

 

“I agree – five more minutes,” he chuckles and slides his hand from where he’s holding her waist to cup her soft breast instead. “I don’t want to get out of bed yet, now when you’re so tempting, naked and soft in my arms.”

 

She giggles and sighs contentedly, rubbing her cheek on the pillow so that her hair tickles his nose again. “You’re leaving today, aren’t you?” she asks softly after a few moments.

 

“Aye, I am,” he tells her, caressing the breast he’s holding with his rough fingers. “Don’t worry, lass – I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

“You better be,” she grumbles, and he can tell she’s pouting from the tone of her voice. “I’d hate to have to go find you in the Fade and drag you back here myself, or -”

 

He laughs and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “Don’t tell me you’d miss me, lass -”

 

“You damn well know I would, you ass,” she grouses.

 

“I’ll always come back to you, just like I promised. You know that, Abigail,” he assures her.

 

“Mmm, good,” she hums, and she wiggles her hips again, her breath catching when she feels him hot and hard pressed against her. “Ry – do you – you don’t have to go yet, do you? You have a little bit of time, right?”

 

“I always have time to take you, lass,” he murmurs, and he feels her almost shiver, the skin of her tattooed shoulder prickling with goose bumps.

 

She rolls over to face him and tilts her face up, a soft, imploring smile tugging her lips up. Her chocolate eyes are wide and full of love, her pink lips delicate and tempting. He leans down to capture them with his mouth, tugging them gently and encouraging them to part so that he can search out her tongue.

 

With a soft moan she slides her hand into his hair, clinging to him as she answers the tender passion he’s kissing her with. Their kisses are always like this, ever since the very first one – slow, hungry, hinting at the deep tenderness they feel for one another.

 

She hasn’t said she loves him out loud yet, but he knows she does – it’s in the way she looks at him, the way she kisses him, the way she responds to him when he’s moving between her legs. For now that’s enough for him, until she’s comfortable letting herself be vulnerable, until she can bring herself to believe what he knows to be true.

 

They belong with one another.

 

Her hand slides out of his hair to his cheek, tracing the scar he has there with her thumb, caressing him with her small, soft hand.

 

“Ry – I need you – I want to feel you inside of me before you go,” she murmurs, breaking the kiss and looking up at him. “You’ll be gone for so long.”

 

He simply smirks at her, taking in the apprehension on her face, the way her eyes are sparkling.

 

_Aye, she loves me, even if she’s too stubborn to say it aloud._

 

Rolling her onto her back he uses his knees to spread her legs, returning his mouth to hers as he props himself on his elbow above her. His other hand wanders down her side, caressing her breast, grabbing her hip, pulling her thigh around him to hold him tight. When he slips a hand between them she gasps, moaning as he begins to stroke along her slit with his fingers to excite her.

 

“Were you dreaming about me, lass? Did you maybe visit me in the Fade? I had such sweet dreams of you, and it feels like you were having your own of me,” he whispers as he swirls his finger over her excited pearl.

 

“It’s – it’s the way you kiss me,” she breathes. “I can’t get enough of you.”

 

“Nor I you, Abigail,” he assures her, and he kisses her once more as he positions himself between her legs and uses his hand to guide himself into her.

 

They moan in unison and she slides her hands over his shoulders to his back, her nails digging into his flexing muscles as he begins to move.

 

She feels like a dream, like the sweetest heaven he’s ever known. He devours her mouth with his, keeping himself close as he thrusts into her, enjoying the little moans and cries she makes every time he pushes deeper into her. Her legs are wrapped tight around his hips, as if she doesn’t want to let him go, as if she can’t stand the idea of him leaving her and not being this close.

 

“Abigail – I love you,” he tells her, sliding his mouth along her throat and gently sucking the soft spot beneath her ear until she moans and cries his name.

 

“Ry – I’m going to – finish with me, please -” she begs, her hands sliding into his hair as she moans and clenches her eyes shut.

 

He smirks and doubles his effort, quickening his pace and trying to push deeper to send them both over the edge. When she falls apart she sobs, her whole body trembling and her legs tightening around his hips. He finishes within her in the same moment with a groan, undone by the sight of her face as she cries out his name.

 

Collapsing on her, he buries his face in the crook of her neck and nuzzles her skin, trying to regain his senses. Her arms and legs are clinging to him, her thumbs rubbing soft circles on the skin of his back.

 

Suddenly she giggles, and when he lifts his face to give her a frown he sees that she’s smiling brightly, mischief in her eyes. “That was longer than five minutes.”

 

A wide smile breaks across his face and he joins her laughter, leaning down to press a deep kiss to her lips. “Aye it was – but you’re just so tempting, lass.”

 

She cups his cheek with her hand and traces the scar with her thumb again, looking torn between joy and melancholy. “You – you should probably get going. I’d hate for Cullen to have to yell at you for lounging around in bed with me again.”

 

He heaves an overdramatic sigh and nods sadly. “You’re right, that would ruin the morning,” he quips. With one last kiss he finally pulls himself out of her embrace and stands, stretching as he walks across their room to his armor stand.

 

She props herself on an elbow and watches him dress, silently admiring him as he moves around the room. The entire time he dresses he shoots her glances and small smiles, giving her a playful wink here and there when he catches her eye.

 

When he finishes tying his sword belt on and picks up his helmet she pushes herself out the bed and grabs the shirt he threw on the floor the night before. As she pulls it on he smiles to himself, realizing that she’ll probably spend every night he’s gone sleeping in it.

 

The thought sets his soul on fire, and he pulls her into his arms and presses another deep kiss to her lips.

 

“I’m going to see you off -”

 

“I know, lass – I just wanted one last kiss in private,” he chuckles. He playfully swats her on the rear and turns to leave their room, and she pads barefoot across the stone floor to follow him.

 

When he reaches the courtyard he looks around, noticing the small contingent of soldiers gathering their items and preparing to set out with him. He keeps saying he’ll be back soon, but honestly he isn’t certain yet when he’ll return.

 

He sighs deeply and turns back to face her, smirking at the sight of her wearing his shirt and trying to look like she’s not about to cry. She sniffles a little and looks away, blinking her eyes rapidly.

 

“Be careful,” she says softly, but he can tell she’s trying and failing to sound like she’s teasing. “I’d hate to have to murder Cullen for something happening to you out there. It would upset poor Evelyn.”

 

“Don’t worry, Abigail – I’ll be fine,” he assures her, and wraps an arm around her waist to pull her against him. “I’ll write to you often, and before you know it I’ll be back. I love you, lass.”

 

She smirks up at him, a sly look in her eyes. “I know you do, you crazy fool.”

 

He smiles brightly at the memory her words conjure, and he leans down to kiss her with more passion than is appropriate for the middle of Skyhold. But he doesn’t care, because all he knows is how much he’ll miss her.

 

“I’ll write to you soon, my love,” he tells her, all of the teasing humor gone from his voice.

 

“Ditto, Ry,” she brushes at the tear that finally slips down her cheek, and he presses one last kiss to her forehead.

 

He forces himself to turn away, fidgeting with the helmet in his hands as he walks across the courtyard. A few of the soldiers snicker when he approaches and he glowers at them until they look down and clear their throats awkwardly.

 

He begins to bark orders and prepare himself – the Western Approach is calling, and he glances back at where Abigail is standing in front of the tavern door, watching him get ready to leave her. Once he’s mounted his horse he looks one last time at her and holds a hand up, and she presses her fingertips to her lips and then holds her hand out, blowing him a kiss.

 

 _Aye – the stubborn lass loves me_ , he thinks to himself before he leads his horse into a trot and out the gates of Skyhold.


	6. For a Good Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of [this post](https://laraslandlockedblues.tumblr.com/post/171168208113/gugle1980-pookyhuntress-elfleed) by [gugle1980](http://gugle1980.tumblr.com/) and also Modern AU day for Rylen Appreciation Week, I give you a ridiculous little drabble that’s been floating around in my head.
> 
> Modern Firefighter ex-Templars doing some shirtless charity.

“Oh my – what’s going on here?”

 

“They’re doing a car wash for charity – and their truck too, while they wait for cars to come.”

 

“Is the charity that they’re shirtless? Maferath – just  _look_  at them -”

 

Three contented, swoony sighs escape their lips as they stare at the men before them.

 

“Maker’s breath – can you just keep holding up the signs instead of ogling us?” one of the men calls over to them, and they all giggle.

 

“S-sorry!” Evelyn calls over, and Abby nudges her in the ribs.

 

“Don’t apologize – they’re the ones that decided to do a shirtless car wash – ogle away, that’s the whole point,” Abby tells her. She turns back to the men hosing down the truck and cups her mouth with her hand. “Ow-ow! I think you missed a spot!”

 

“Eh lass, stop distracting us -” one of the other men calls, and Abby bursts into a fit of giggles.

 

All morning she and Evelyn have been holding signs, wearing tank tops and shorts and trying to entice people into the lot. They’ve been watching a slow trickle of people pull their dirty cars into the lot in front of the fire station. Everyone who’s stopped to get their car washed has stood over with the two women holding signs to stare at the sight the men pose.

 

They’ve only got the pants and boots from their uniforms on, exposing the rest of their glistening skin to the bright morning sun. Their muscles flex as they work, bulging and straining as one tries to hose down the large red truck and the other two kneel and work on cleaning the tires’ rims.

 

“I – I think I’m going to pass out,” Evelyn mutters beside her, and Abby follows her gaze to the one holding the hose.

 

He has golden curls, a dark golden beard, and the dusting of the same color is slicked down on his chest with the sweat and water dripping down him. He has scars and some burn marks, evidence of his time in the military and his work now as a firefighter – but the scars only add to the powerful physique he’s flaunting. Glancing over his shoulder he catches sight of Evelyn staring at him and almost flushes, but he smirks before he turns back around.

 

“At least if you pass out, there’s emergency responders right here to help,” Abby giggles. “Hey if she swoons will one of you come over and help, pretty please?”

 

“Shouldn’t you lasses be working?” the man cleaning the front tire scolds, turning to face her with a playful scowl on his face. The dark blue-black tattoos on his nose and chin are gleaming in the sun, the scars on his cheeks more pronounced by the drops of water on his skin. The tattoo on his chin tugs up slightly as he tries to fight the smile threatening to come across his face.

 

He has similar tattoos encircling his biceps, emphasizing their bulging size as he wipes the tires with a rag. His chestnut waves are shining reddish gold in the sun, and when he turns back to try to subtly look her over his aqua eyes catch the sun and sparkle. When he stands up her eyes follow the trail of dark hair from his chest down past his navel and she bites her lip, her eyes wide.

 

“I am working, I’m drawing attention to the fine men going shirtless for charity,” she teases him.

 

“We’re washing cars for charity, lass – so go get us some cars to wash -”

 

“You’ll make more money if you flex a bit, come on -”

 

“ – lass -”

 

“Maker’s breath -”

 

“She might be right,” the one working on the last tires points out to the other two. He stands up and wipes his hands on his pants, shrugging as the other two stare incredulously at him. His dark skin almost sparkles under the sun, his full lips spreading in a wide smile while his bright green eyes twinkle. “Why not put on a show? We might bring in more sovereigns.”

 

“Barris, I don’t think we should give in to these silly ideas -”

 

“Oh come now, mate – the signs aren’t bringing in enough, maybe we should try it.”

 

“Andraste preserve me.”

 

Abby and Evelyn dissolve into a fit of giggles, playfully slapping each other on the arms as they watch the men set aside their rags and the hose.

 

“Maybe you should hose one another down, you know that might help -” Dorian suggests from beside Abby, folding his arms across his chest and tapping his chin with a finger.

 

“No, absolutely not -” the golden man protests but before he can finish the sentence the man with face tattoos turns the hose on him and sprays him. He splutters and wipes it out of his eyes before he glares at the other man, and then he lunges and begins to chase him around the truck.

 

Barris walks over to stand beside Evelyn and takes her sign from her, holding it up and flexing with one arm at the cars passing by. Abby and Dorian burst out laughing, holding one another for support when a car slams on its brakes and pulls into the lot.

 

“Aye, see, Cullen – it worked -” the tattooed man points out from where Cullen has him in a headlock.

 

They quickly spring apart and clear their throats, and hurry over with Barris to set to work washing the car. The driver comes and stands beside Abby and Evelyn, openly gawking as the firefighters clean their car.

 

“I – I may ask for their numbers,” the driver mutters, and Abby glares at her.

 

“Sorry, honey – we called dibs,” she says firmly. The driver shrugs and passes over more than the suggested donation when her car is finally spotlessly clean.

 

“See? I told you it would work Comm – I mean, Cullen,” Barris tells him. “Come on, Rylen, grab a sign.”

 

In between cars the men stand holding the signs, posing until the lot is almost full of cars to wash. And the whole time they work Abby, Evelyn, Dorian, and the car owners stand and giggle as they watch.

 

By the end of the day –

 

“We made  _how_  much?” Cullen asks as he watches Evelyn and Abby struggle to shut the lid on the metal box they were putting donations in all day.

 

“Almost a thousand sovereigns,” Evelyn tells him, smiling widely, her lightning eyes sparkling.

 

“See? A little flexing never hurt anyone,” Barris laughs as he pulls his shirt on. “Dorian – do you want to go for a drink?”

 

“Aye that’s a good idea – care to join me lass?” Rylen wiggles his eyebrows at Abby.

 

“I don’t know – I’m taken, I’ve got this man waiting for me at home,” she teases, but he steps forward and wraps his arm around her neck.

 

“Is that why you stood here and ogled me all day, then?” he quips, and then he leans down and presses a deep, possessive kiss to her lips. “Come on – let’s all go celebrate. We did good work today.”

 

“Yes, we – we did,” Cullen nods, and he pulls his shirt on over his head. “Evelyn, love, shall we?” 

 

He holds his arm out to her and she slides hers into his, holding it with both hands as she smiles up at him. “Let’s have a drink and – Maker, we can actually get the clinic going now, there’s so much to do -”

 

Evelyn continues to smile and Cullen leans down and kisses her before they all walk off together, laughing and joking about the day’s successful ‘shirtless car wash.’

 

“You guys should do a calendar, think about how much you could make selling them,” Abby suggests, and Rylen barks out a few laughs at the look on Cullen’s face.

 

“Maker’s breath – absolutely not!”


End file.
